


Cab Ride

by Callie4180



Series: Sherlock and Sebastian Flash Fics from 221b Con [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10601847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie4180/pseuds/Callie4180
Summary: Flash fic written for the 221b Con Fan Fiction Workshop 2017. A continuation of sorts of the last flash fic I wrote, Debriefing.The prompts were: Sebastian Moran, Sherlock Holmes, back of a taxi, "Don't answer that" (which I tweaked, in the grand tradition of fic).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. Not sure why I keep getting this pairing, but it's a fucked up dynamic, that's for sure.

Moran leaned back into the fake leather seat and shook his head. “You have got to be the cockiest son of a bitch to ever walk these streets,” he said, his tone vaguely admiring.

Sherlock slammed the car door behind him. “Technically, I’m riding these streets,” he said, as he pulled down the jump seat. “And I’m fairly sure that honour goes to your boss, anyway.” He sharply kneed Moran’s outstretched legs to the side and stretched out his own.

Moran shrugged. “I suppose,” he said, carelessly. “He’s nuts, though, so I expect this kind of bullshit from him.“ His gaze sharpened. ”What’s this about, then?” he asked. “Get lonely, did you? Want a bit more of the same?”

Sherlock looked up from his feet. “You flatter yourself.”

“I really don’t.” Moran took a moment to look Sherlock up and down. As he’d expected, Sherlock flushed. He smirked. Typical.

Sherlock was holding his gaze, though, steady and sure, and that was new. “Any chance of us having a conversation that doesn’t revolve around sex?” he said. 

“Probably not,” Moran answered. 

“Pity,” Sherlock said, looking out the window with a bored look. “I have intelligence you’d probably find rather valuable.”

“That Jim would find valuable, you mean.”

“Nope,” Sherlock said, popping the “P.” “I mean you.”

Moran regarded him steadily. “Go on, then.”

Sherlock slid his gaze over to him slowly. “He’s going to sell you out.”

Moran laughed once, a humorless sound. “No, he’s not.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He wouldn’t.”

Sherlock shrugged a lazy shoulder. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said, sliding his eyes back toward the window. “I’m sure the text Mycroft got from a private number offering the whereabouts and current identity of “The Tiger of Shinwar” in exchange for unhindered passage to Prague was, I don’t know, some sort of a prank.”

Moran licked his lips and looked down at his feet for a long moment. “He has a pair of twins in Prague,” he said at last. He looked out his own window. “That bastard,” he added, calmly.

“Right, then,” Sherlock said. “I think this is my stop. Here, please, cabbie,” he called over his shoulder, sliding to the edge of his seat as the car glided to a stop.

“What, you don’t want to come along to my lair? Let me thank you personally, and at length? Come now, stretch,” Moran said, with a desperate wheedle. “Don’t break my heart and walk away. Wasn’t I the best you’ve ever had?”

Sherlock lifted a laconic eyebrow. “I won’t answer that,” he said with a smirk, as he slid gracefully out the door. “You really do have it wrong, Moran,” he said, as he leaned down to look back into the cab. “You think because you had me once, you’ll always be on top. Well, fair warning--” Moran’s eyes widened as Sherlock leaned in just that much closer.

“Next time, you’ll be bent over a crate,” Sherlock whispered,  “and I am going to make you  _ scream." _

He winked. “Later, Tiger.”


End file.
